


Vengeance Is Mine

by lirin



Category: And Then There Were None - Christie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bible Quotes, Gen, Questionable exegesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: Murder will out, and the day of vengeance shall be proclaimed. Invisible ink may not remain invisible forever, nor will the true murderer's identity remain forever unknown.





	Vengeance Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> This story mostly follows the plot of the play, though there are a couple of elements taken from the novel (Wargrave's letter in the bottle, and the circumstances of Mr. Rogers' death). There are also some backstory divergences taken from neither play nor novel, to go along with the change in murderer. Because, as Wargrave said in his letter in the novel… _one of the ten people on the island was not a murderer in any sense of the word, and it follows, paradoxically, that that person must logically be the murderer_. And as I considered the changes that it might take for a different character to be the murderer, I realized that Wargrave's pronouncement would also hold true in my tale.
> 
> All quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible or from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer. The main text of each meditation is italicized; all other quotations are not indicated in any manner.

Sir Thomas Legge  
Scotland Yard

Dear Sir—

After all that kerfuffle with Wargrave's letter in the bottle last year, you must have thought—as indeed, we all thought—that the mystery of Indian Island was finally settled for good. But new information has come to our attention that seems to indicate that it is possible that Wargrave was not the culprit. Last week, a letter was found in a village library, tucked inside an old Bible facing Judges 4. The woman who found it reported it to the parson, who was friends with a PC in the next town, who told his supervisor—suffice it to say, the letter made its way through several hands, but eventually found its way to my department.

Of course, we all assumed it was a hoax. We would still think it a hoax even now—except that, to be certain, we tested a page of the diary in question, and found that it was, indeed, full of precise writing in invisible ink. Now that we have developed it (for which heat sufficed; it was not a very esoteric sort of ink), an even more impossible tale than the Wargrave story presents itself for our consideration.

The letter, it seems clear, dates to earlier than the entries in the diary, since there is no way it could have been spirited off of the island. I have therefore placed it first in this transcript, and followed it with everything we found in her diary, page by page. As long as the plain entries last, the invisible entries are interpolated in the space between the lines; thereafter, they are written on the blank pages that follow. I have placed the invisible ink entries from each page after the visible entries from the same page, since it seems likely from context that that is the order they were written in.

As strange as the tale that these documents present may be, I am inclined to believe that it is the truth. And so Mr. Justice Wargrave was innocent all along! Though I doubt the vindication will do his memory much good at this point, now that he's had a year of his name being dragged through the mud.

Sincerely,

George Strand, Devon County Constabulary

 ***

To whom it may concern:

Moreover I will endeavour that ye may be able after my decease to have these things always in remembrance.

The first murder was one of violence. And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against his brother, and slew him. Cain was punished for that murder; he would have been slain in turn had the Lord not heeded his pleas and had mercy upon him.

But there are other ways to commit murder. Ways equally deserving of the wrath of Almighty God, yet less open to the punishment of man. King David sent Uriah to his death on the battlefield, and none knew except God. A vengeful judge spoke lying words that sent my half-brother to the hangman, and none knew except God. A vengeful judge spoke lying words that sent my half-brother to the hangman, and none knew them for lies except God. My maid Beatrice died when her parents wrathfully excluded her from hearth and home. I have learned of other murders, similarly hands-free for the murderers. An elderly woman whose life-giving medicine was withheld by her heirs. A general who followed in the very steps of King David. There are so many more I could name, but the time grows short. O Lord, what a sinful world your creation has become!

I did not always realize this truth about the world. I thought once—it seems a lifetime ago—that God was a God of mercy and of love. My Sunday school teachers spoke of Him with such fondness, even as my mother and father warned me of the hellfire that awaited those who did not follow in the ways He commanded. As I grew older, still I clung to that belief that love is of God and God is love. Even when Edward fell to the hangman's noose, still I tried to believe. But then—

I had a maidservant. A sweet girl, though a little prone to trouble. One day, she never came back after her afternoon off. It was not the first time this had happened, and I didn't call the constable until the following morning, when she still had not returned. By the time they found her, she had been a day and a night in the river. Dead.

Her sin of suicide was grievous, but her parents' sin, in casting her out, was moreso. I consider them responsible for her death, much more than she herself. And they felt guilt for it, as indeed they ought—but in that guilt and regret, they decided to tell everyone in the town that it was I who had sent Beatrice to her death. I who had made the last judgement on her in life, as Another would pronounce judgement on her in the hereafter. It was then that I realized that God is a God of vengeance and of judgement, and I turned away from the village as they turned away from me.

God is the Judge. He putteth down one, and setteth up another. He put down Beatrice Taylor to the grave; and has He not set me up, to be the instrument of His judgement?

Since that day, I have made my plans and gathered my suspects. There are several conversational gambits which may provoke stories of criminals who thought their crimes would escape censure in this life—to be vulgar, those who "got away with it". In my travels and visits I have made use of every gambit many times over. I researched the crimes I discovered until I felt certain of their guilt and was ready to pass sentence.

And this next week, sentence shall be passed.

I am donating all of my books to the library of that village where once I lived—and where once, Beatrice Taylor lived, too—for I shall have no further need of them. I shall enclose this letter inside my father's old Bible. I do not know if anyone will ever find it, for so few people read the Bible as they ought, in this sinful era. But if it is found, then the truth will out at last. I shall take invisible ink with me to the island, so that the truth will be there in my diary for such a one as diligently seeketh the truth.

May God have mercy upon our souls.

Emily Brent

***

_Diary excerpt in normal ink_

It is claimed that our hostess has missed the train. How extraordinary. I do not remember Mrs. Ogden very well, but I feel quite certain that she was not the sort of loose and sloppy person who would not be on hand to greet her guests. Nothing like young people these days, with their tight dresses and short skirts and unfamiliarity. If one of those were my host or hostess, I might understand such carelessness; but somehow, all of them are here, and Mrs. Ogden is not.

I hope she arrives soon. None of the guests I met downstairs seemed very good company. Yet, I shall dress now and go downstairs and show them how a proper lady behaves in such circumstances.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

All well so far. Everyone is here, and the boatman tells us the weather will turn nasty, though I still worry, for it looks perfectly nice this evening. Yet the Lord is on my side; I will not fear. I have had a glimpse of all of my chosen people, and I see no reason to deviate from my plans now. I shall give them according to their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their endeavours, and those who have sinned more greatly shall be punished the more severely, for they will not only die, but they shall fear death before it finally comes to them. As for those whose sin was the lesser, my observations have only confirmed my decision: Mr. Marston and Mrs. Rogers shall die first.

***

**Meditation upon Mark 10:14** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou commanded Thy disciples: _Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God._

Is not the one who snatches children untimely from life, away from their mothers and away from the chance to learn of Thee and to come to Thee, an abomination, and evil in Thy sight? Though this man realizes not the gravity of what he has done, his actions are still a sin unto death.

Mr. Anthony James Marston has driven along the broad road which leadeth to destruction. And so, it is Thy will that he must die.

***

_Diary excerpt in normal ink_

In the midst of life we are in death.

Something very curious happened this evening. Two curious things, actually. There was a record played after dinner that accused every person here of murder. It charged me with the death of Beatrice Taylor, which is of course ridiculous. I have nothing with which to reproach my conscience on that score.

But it would seem that Mr. Marston's conscience was a different matter. After the recording played—it said that he had run over two poor children with his car—in the midst of conversation, he committed suicide! It seemed that he had choked to death on his drink, but Dr. Armstrong said he had put cyanide in it. How sudden! His conscience must have overcome him all at once. Though perhaps he had already felt guilt on that score, else why would he have the cyanide at hand?

Mr. Justice Wargrave has proposed—and we have all agreed—that we leave the island first thing in the morning. We would have left tonight, but there was no means of sending for a boat. I must admit, I will not be sorry to leave this island behind, nor most of these people. Neither are particularly pleasant.

***

**Meditation upon Psalm 1:1** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, _Blessed is the man that hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, and hath not sat in the seat of the scornful_. And how grieved art Thou, O Lord, when Thy people abandon Thee to walk in those counsels, and to stand in that way, and to sit in that seat.

And through so doing, one who might not have fallen into evil on her own, by walking in the counsel of the ungodly and even by being married to the same, has fallen into evil and caused the death of one of Thy own. And so, although I do not think that the murder was her idea, and I do think that she was only following the instructions of her husband, I do believe that it is Thy will that Mrs. Ethel Rogers must die.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

Mrs. Rogers thought nothing of my coming, and indeed took it as a kindness that I brought tea for her. Mr. Marston was equally easy to kill; nobody was expecting anything, and so his glass was left quite unattended. Soon, those who remain will be more on their guard. I shall have to be very careful.

Mr. Justice Wargrave took charge of the investigation tonight. I was quite glad that he took that central role; it will help prevent him from escaping notice in this affair. The liar still thinks himself quite innocent of Edward's death.

As for myself, I refused to speak of Beatrice. That sordid tale is no topic for mixed company. But perhaps I shall tell Miss Claythorne about her. I am sure that if I do, she will tell the others, for young women like Miss Claythorne have no common decency about such things. But though it grieves me to say it, it would probably be for the best for the people gathered here to know how Beatrice died, and to think that I was responsible for her death. I would be more of a suspect if I disclaimed any such tale. And in a way, am I not responsible for Beatrice's death? If only I had called the constable sooner.

***

**Meditation upon II Samuel 12:5-7** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, when Thou sent the prophet Nathan to David after his sin with Bathsheba, the king heard Nathan's tale of the rich man with many herds and the poor man with his one little ewe lamb. And when he had heard it, _David's anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to Nathan: As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die._

_And Nathan said to David: Thou art the man._

General MacKenzie, also, is the man. Though his sin is lesser than David's—though he did not steal any man's wife, and indeed, the murdered Arthur Richmond was the thief of the ewe lamb—still, he sent a man to walk in the footprints of Uriah. And so, as commanded by King David of Israel: General John Gordon MacKenzie shall surely die.

***

_Diary excerpt in normal ink—this is the last of the visible entries_

General MacKenzie and Mrs. Rogers are both dead. Mrs. Rogers died in her sleep last night, and General MacKenzie was actually stabbed, right as he sat on the balcony near all of us! We are all befuddled and, I must admit, a bit frightened.

I remember when they asked me to identify Beatrice Taylor's body. After being in the river so long, her mortal frame was far more deteriorated than Mrs. Rogers' or General MacKenzie's. But that limpness, that loss of light in the eyes—I found this morning that I could not stop thinking of Beatrice.

But I did not kill her. Surely, the person, whoever he is, who killed Mr. Marston and General MacKenzie and Mrs. Rogers, must realize that. I am not the sort of woman who would do such a thing. Surely, whoever the person stalking us is, he must understand that it would be ridiculous to mark me for death just because my maid went and drowned herself years ago.

I wonder, what will death be like?

What was it like, for Beatrice?

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

I believe General MacKenzie was ready to die. He stared out over the water, and made no move to acknowledge me when I joined him. It was a simple matter to slip a knife into him.

I told the tale of Beatrice Taylor to Miss Claythorne, and I have no doubt that she has already spread the tale to the men. Young women these days have no sense of propriety.

I wonder if any of them suspect me yet. I suppose I am not the unlikeliest suspect among those who remain. Though if they only knew that almost every one of them had committed murder before they came to this island, and yet I—I had not.

I did not kill Beatrice Taylor.

Though sometimes it feels as if I did. They all think I did. O Lord, Thou knowest. What could I have done? Why didst Thou bring Thy wrath upon my little home, killing her and driving me out? Why?

I grow tired of interacting with the sinners that I have summoned to this place. I am glad that my time is almost come. But Mr. Rogers must come first.

***

**Meditation upon Ephesians 5:23** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou hast said that _the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church_. And so, is not a husband who leads his wife into sin doubly guilty, both for his sin and for the sin of his wife? I daresay this is so even for lesser sins, and if so, how much more for the sin of killing an innocent who trusted in them? And that is what Thomas and Ethel Rogers did, for their withholding hands killed their employer just as surely as poison would have.

And so, for his wife's part and for his own, Mr. Thomas Rogers is doubly guilty of murder and deserves to die.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

Mr. Rogers is dead. The Lord gave me strength, for without Him I know there is no way my arms could have struck so many blows. But it is done, and he has paid for his sins in this life. How he shall pay further in the hereafter, it is not mine to say.

I am dead as well, or so it seems to all those who sit below. The construction of this house is such that I can hear well enough if anyone is approaching, so I can sit here and write and be ready to return to my deathbed whenever the need arises.

For as long as I can remember, doctors and nurses have had difficulty detecting my pulse. Something about the depths of the veins or some such, I suppose; I never thought to ask. Of course, Dr. Armstrong would not know this, never having tried to find my pulse. In addition, ever since I began devising my plan, I have practiced holding my breath. Between lack of breathing, lack of a pulse, a touch of cosmetics (the first time in my life that such abominations have touched my skin—save of course for the extensive practicing I did before I came to the island), and a dropped syringe that smelled of very real cyanide (for I still have some squirreled away, for later): they were all taken in. I had to breathe a bit while they carried me upstairs, but I did so as shallowly as they could, and none of them seemed to notice.

It is quite dreary lying here with nothing to do. I miss my knitting. I had hoped to at least finish all the pieces of the sweater before things came to this pass, but of course the theft of my grey wool put paid to that idea. Such a loss. And who could have taken it? Was it for some strange purpose of his or her own, or was it meant to indicate that someone suspects me?

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

I had planned, if the Lord's will were still with me, to kill Mr. Justice Wargrave next. I dared not risk keeping him alive any longer, as the most intelligent of the lot; and once everyone is dead, I can write whatever claims I wish, and pretend that he had faked his death, and make everyone think that he was the murderer. For he slew Edward Seton.

But someone is one step ahead of me, and I fear—oh, I fear—that it is Wargrave who is ahead of me. There was a commotion in a nearby room—Miss Claythorne's, I think—and then a shot from below, and now they say that Wargrave is dead, shot in the forehead.

Who did it? Is Wargrave dead? If alive, how did he convince them all that he was dead? (I suppose I cannot be too surprised at such an accomplishment, having just done the same myself.) If dead, who killed him, and why?

My plans are all awry. Yet they were never my plans, but those of the omniscient and omnipotent Lord God. I pray that He will not fail me now. Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.

***

**Meditation upon Mark 5:25-26** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, _a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, suffered many things of many physicians_ before Thou healed her.

But there are many physicians and many who suffer at their hands, and though Thou healed that certain woman, Thou stayed Thy hand from Louisa Clees. She suffered much on the operating table at the hands of a physician, and at the end of her suffering, she died.

Though Thou stayed Thy hand from healing her, yet Thou dost not pardon the hand of the one who brought her to that end, increasing her sufferings through his negligent actions and love for the fruit of the vine. Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. And so, it is Thy will that Dr. Edward Armstrong must die.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

Wargrave is alive!

At least I know that now, and am no longer in a state of wondering. But still, my heart pounds so quickly that I fear there is no way someone would escape realization that I yet live, if he or she were to come upon me suddenly. But they are all locked up tight in their rooms—all that remain, that is—for fear. For fear of God's vengeance—for fear of me!

Wargrave is the only exception. But just as I must myself, so must he remain in the rom wherein they placed him, and feign the stillness of death so as not to be caught out. And so I do, as well; though I risk just enough movement to find my diary, which they left untouched on my nightstand, and to write these few words in it. For I promised myself, before I came here, that I would write the truth. For someday, those who come shall read, and they shall know the truth, and the truth shall make them free.

It is dawn now. In the night, I heard movement in the hall. I slipped from my bed and peeked through the keyhole in time to see Wargrave walking down the hall. I followed as quickly as I could, but far enough away that he would not perceive me. He went out to the cliffs and stood there, waiting. Eventually, Dr. Armstrong joined him and then I gained realization through God's faithful hand and knew that it must have been Dr. Armstrong who had helped Wargrave to pretend to be dead. They spoke at length. I dared not go close enough to hear their plans or whom they suspected, for the moonlight was shining bright all around us, and I had to stay back in the cover of some bushes.

Eventually, Wargrave turned back to the house, while Armstrong still stood at the cliff's edge. I waited until Wargrave had disappeared from sight and hearing, then walked towards Armstrong. I walked quietly at first, then trod as heavily as I could for the last few steps, with hope that Armstrong would expect me to be Wargrave, who is taller than me but thankfully slight of build for a man. Armstrong turned to face me as I came upon him, but too late. One thrust with my arm and he had gone over the edge. It all happened so quickly. I hurried back to the house, and as best as I can tell, I have avoided any notice. Though I do not know if Wargrave is still in his room, nor do I know his plans. Does he think me dead?

I shall go now to construct the booby trap on the balcony. Of the four who remain, I think Blore is the most likely to trigger it. He is by far the most thoughtless of the four. I am now at the point in my plans where I must depend the most heavily on the Lord for my schemes to come to fruition. These last deaths will be no mere matter of poison slipped in a cup, but much more psychological. But the great God of vengeance shall supply all my need.

***

**Meditation upon Deuteronomy 19:18-19** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou hast commanded in Thy scriptures that _if a witness be a false witness, and hath testified falsely against his brother, then shall ye do unto him, as he had thought to have done unto his brother: so shalt thou put the evil away from among you._

I have brought to this island a man who committed false witness and testified falsely for filthy lucre. James Landor, the man against whom Mr. Blore testified, died in Dartmoor Prison, an innocent man. As innocent as Thy Son was, O Lord, whose innocent blood was betrayed for thirty pieces of silver.

So let it be done unto Mr. William Blore as he thought to have done unto James Landor, and let him die in his sins. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish. Thy will be done.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

It is as I foresaw: Blore cast himself recklessly onto the balcony and thus died.

The other two—Miss Claythorne and Mr. Lombard—have gone out to walk about the island. It is for these two only that I have some regret. Though Miss Claythorne seems quite immoral with her tight dresses and her rude words, so perhaps not too much regret. Is this what the Lord would want?

If only I knew where Mr. Justice Wargrave has got to. He is the one missing piece in the puzzle, and the Lord has not given me grace that I should see with my eyes or hear with my ears where Wargr——————

He saw me! He sprang forward to put his hands about my throat, and I saw the fear of death giving him strength. And well might he fear death, evil man that he is. But I still had one last drug to hand. I have kept it with me ever since I decided that they were unlikely to search the dead bodies thoroughly, for just such a time as this. It was not a drug to bring death, but mere confusion and disorientation. Enough that I might then have killed him—have driven a knife through his evil heart—but then all sorts of questions might have arisen, as to why he was killed in my room, and more attention drawn to the other occupant of that room. I do not believe that I could forestall a more thorough examination, even if the only doctor on the island is now dead. And the Lord gave me a better idea. I led him down the stairs and left him—disoriented, not understanding—in the main sitting room, to wait for the return of the island's last two occupants. I do not think he will survive long when they see him.

***

**Meditation upon Romans 2:1** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou said in Thy Word: _Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things._ The Lord is a righteous Judge, but O! How few among his creation have that same righteousness. But this judge that I have brought here is less righteous than most, and indeed, even as Thou hast said, he has condemned himself by his actions, and by his unrighteous judgement.

For he sent my dear half-brother, Edward Seton, to the rope for a murder that Edward did not do. And even now, he has no regrets in the matter. Let Thy vengeance come upon him in full measure, O Lord. For Thou knowest that Mr. Justice Lawrence John Wargrave must surely die.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

He is dead, finally; shot through the heart nigh as soon as Philip Lombard opened the front door. I had feared that his schemes would bring all my plans to ruin, but the Lord is good to me and has not allowed my steps to falter. It is not too late. I can still accuse Mr. Justice Wargrave of everything that has come to pass here on the island.

They already believe him to be the architect, I think, from what I heard Miss Claythorne and Mr. Lombard saying below. I did not dare listen very long, though, for fear they might come upstairs and search one last time. They have not done so, but still, I must be very careful. It would not do to falter now and lose my hopes, when I am come to the end of all things.

Below me, two innocents wait happily, expecting the boat to arrive at any minute. I do know them to be innocent, yet I summoned them here anyway. I had thought to kill them and to blame their deaths on Wargrave with all the rest, and so to show without a doubt that he is willing to kill the innocent with the guilty. But now that it is time, I find I cannot do it. I will let them live, and pray God that this be not a mistake.

***

**Meditation upon Romans 9:15-16** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou hast said, _I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy._

I have believed that Thou art no God of mercy, but Thy Word cannot be denied: Thou dost show mercy from time to time. And so I have showed mercy in Thy stead. I do not know if this is the right choice, but it is the choice that I have made, and I will have little opportunity to change it.

And so, Miss Vera Claythorne and Mr. Philip Lombard will live. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be; world without end. Amen.

***

_Diary excerpt in invisible ink_

The boat has come. Soon there will be many people on this island, and I must be dead before that happens. I have done all I can to condemn Mr. Justice Wargrave: in addition to Mr. Lombard's and Miss Claythorne's beliefs on the matter—which indeed they must proclaim loudly, for failing that, are they not the most obvious suspects?—I have written a letter of confession, as if authored by Wargrave, and tossed it into the sea in a bottle. The currents brought Dr. Armstrong's body around quickly to the shore; it is my hope that the bottle will do the same, and condemn him the more utterly.

As for me, I will be found dead, and nobody will have reason to think aught amiss. I shall put this diary away, and I shall lay myself down on the bed, and I shall consume a cyanide pill that I have kept safe by me for just this purpose.

I have done the Lord's work long enough. It is time for me to leave this sphere, and to learn where I shall spend eternity. I pray it be in heaven—and yet I fear it may not be so.

***

**Meditation upon Romans 12:19** _(From diary, in invisible ink)_

O Lord, Thou hast said in Thy holy Word: _Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord._

Though this vengeance which I have wrought was not for myself but for Thee, dear Lord (and for Edward and for Beatrice, dear Edward and Beatrice with their faces full of blood and water, I can see them now, sitting at my right and at my left) yet still I have not done as Thou said. I have not given place unto wrath; rather I have taken wrath in my hand and wielded it with the whole strength of my soul. I have taken vengeance in my hand and I have repaid the crimes of every killer on this island with death—save one.

Lord, there is one killer yet on this island. One who has taken life after life, and will yet take one more life. O Lord, forgive.

Lord, my heart has been haughty, and mine eyes lofty. I have exercised myself in great matters, and in things too high for me. I have claimed God's vengeance for mine own, and repaid crimes that were God's to repay.

And so, Emily Brent must die.


End file.
